Chat
by Botosphere
Summary: Chromia arrives on Earth, but Will Lennox missed the memo about her and a certain Weapons Specialist. Will struggles to deal with the repurcussions. Rated T for the situation, nothing explicit but stronger rating than usual. By Eowyn77 for Marinelife37.
1. Chapter 1

Prowl approached Major Lennox where he stood in the communications center. "Where's Ironhide?"

The human shrugged. "I haven't seen him since Chromia said she wanted to chat with him for a minute."

"And how long ago was that?"

Lennox's brow furrowed. Prowl sounded almost…annoyed. Of course, Prowl didn't like anything that added unnecessary chaos to life, but he hadn't seemed overly-worried about the new arrivals fitting in with the other Autobots when they showed up last night. Wheeljack was nice enough, and Chromia was another no-nonsense fembot like her sister Arcee. Will couldn't understand why the Autobot seemed put out. "I'm not sure. Maybe ten minutes ago. Why? Can't you just…"

Prowl's optics narrowed as he sharply looked north-west, toward the Autobot hangar's open door. "He's not responding to internal comm and I can't find him or Chromia anywhere on the base. They both are, as you humans term it, AWOL."

"That's not like Ironhide."

"Oh yes it is," Ratchet grumbled as he joined Prowl, obviously catching the last part of the conversation. "If Chromia's anywhere in the vicinity, it is. Prime and Arcee are on their way," the medic added.

"Major Lennox," one of the humans on monitor duty called out. "Massive Cybertronian energy reading on the north west corner of the island, sector – "

Lennox, who moved to look over the man's shoulder at the monitor, swore under his breath. The blip was less than a quarter mile from his house. "Mobilize! We're under attack!"

"Belay that," Optimus Prime ordered as he and Jolt helped a limping Arcee to Ratchet's side.

"Are you injured?" Prowl asked the femme.

"None of your slagging business," she growled, rubbing the center of her chassis armor-plates like they hurt.

"Confidential medical condition," Ratchet translated. "Exacerbated by the recent radiation spike."

She slugged his shoulder, but he took it in uncharacteristic silence.

"But Optimus," Lennox ranted in a panic, "there are _Decepticons _on the beach!"

"Two Autobot warriors are already in the area," he calmly answered. "I'm certain they can take care of that energy signature all by themselves." Then he turned his worried optics on the femme who was irritably allowing Ratchet to help her to the med-bay.

The man at the monitor said, "But sir, by the strength of these readings, there must be at least a dozen Decepticons…"

"Odd readings, aren't they," Ratchet said as a parting shot before disappearing into the med bay with Arcee, "all staying together in one spot like that."

"Another combiner?" Lennox asked, his terror growing.

"In a manner of speaking," Jolt muttered, rolling his optics.

Prowl shook his head, looking at the screen. "No, that's where our truant Weapons Specialist and his mate are."

Every single human in the room froze at that revelation. "Mate?" Epps repeated in disbelief.

"Affirmative."

"As in…_mate_?"

"As in, if you look, the frequency and intensity of those readings indicate unshielded spark energy that is decidedly _not _Decepticon in nature."

Lennox looked back at the screen, feeling a little queasy. Mating...unshielded sparks... Was that the same as them being naked? GAH! Not wanting to really contemplate whatever it was his best friend was doing just then, Will said, "That's right next to my place, and Sarah and Annabelle are both home. Are you _sure _there aren't any Decepticons in the area?"

"Positive," Optimus answered, sounding vaguely embarrassed. "I recognize that energy signature."

Lennox sighed, defeated. "Then cease monitoring that sector until…" How long _would _alien robots go at it? They could do battle for _days_.

"I'll have them in the brig shortly," Prowl supplied. "I'll notify you when I do."

"You're not going down there right now, are you?" Epps asked, incredulous. Ironhide had been on Earth for eight years now, and it didn't take a genius to figure out what his reaction would be to an interruption.

"This is _Chromia_ we're talking about," the second-in-command answered over his shoulder. "And she's not been with her mate in ten thousand years. I'm not suicidal."

"As you were," Lennox said to his fellow humans, thinking, 'And here Prime had been all panicked that _Wheeljack _would catch the NEST humans by surprise.' Not once in Prowl's four-hour briefing that morning had anyone mentioned _mates_. Powerpoints of Wheeljack's more notable explosions, yes, but nothing about _mates_! As far as Lennox had known, Chromia was another cool-and-professional fembot like Arcee – no trouble there. Hah!

And what was with Arcee? Was Ratchet's explanation technobabble for she hadn't gotten any in a while?

For seven years, she was the only femme on the base and not a single indiscretion. Only now did Lennox appreciate how much he owed her. Seven years without once having to report that his subordinates were triggering every alarm on the base by having sex on the beach. He only hoped that Chromia didn't inspire Arcee to start causing trouble with the mechs. That blue femme was already trouble enough. And he _really _hoped that Ratchet's treatment for Arcee's condition wasn't what he thought it was.

Chromia showed up and suddenly the NEST Autobots devolved into some kind of sex-happy adolescent soap opera. And _he _had to be the one to explain it all to General Morshower!

Lennox glared at Prime's retreating back. Surreptitiously pulling out his cell phone, he texted, //u o me//

His phone vibrated in his hand with Optimus' text reply. //I do. My apologies for alarming you. They will give you advance notification in the future.//

// FUTURE?! how often do they CHAT?// Will.

// How often do you and your mate?// Optimus.

//headdesk NOT looking 4ward 2 writing this report// Will.

Optimus Prime stumbled, making every eye and optic in the hangar glance his way, and he coughed slightly. //I don't envy you.//


	2. Chapter 2

Author's Note: You have Phoenix13, 1Timberwolf, Kittisbat, and Marinelife37 to thank for the next two chapters. They ganged up on me in a dark alleyway of the fandom and brutally extracted the chapters from me with energon-powered plot bunnies and sad puppy-dog eyes. :) Oh, and if you have any other ideas for facets of this situation that you'd like me to explore, please let me know in a review! ;)

**Warnings: Still rated T but quite a bit stronger than usual. **We don't _see _any 'bot-smut, but that's all Will talks about for the rest of the story, and Annabelle comes by her snarkiness rightly. If you're not interested in Ratchet's "birds and bees" lecture for Lennox, then please enjoy the first chapter for what it is and go on your merry way sniggering at his misfortune. :)

* * *

Will Lennox's first order of business was to retreat to his office and call his wife.

"Hey handsome!" she greeted him. He could hear her Kitchenaide whirring in the background and the mechanical sound made him shudder.

"Hey. Um…do me a favor and don't go outside until I call you back, okay? Keep Annabelle entertained on the south side of the house, too."

There was silence on the other end for a moment, and then Sarah asked, "Is this classified or can you tell me _why_ we're under house arrest?"

"Let's just say it involves Ironhide, a femme, and some extra-curricular activities."

Sarah squealed in delight like a little kid, surprising Will and making him almost drop his phone. "You didn't tell me _Chromia _was one of the new arrivals! Oh, honey, you've got to bring her out to the house!"

"Like I was saying, she and Ironhide are practically there right now."

"Really?" she asked absentmindedly, and he just _knew_ she was peeking through windows trying to see them.

"Sarah…they're _mates._"

"Yeah. You didn't know that?"

"_YOU _did?"

"Well sure," she blithely answered. "Arcee and I talk about everything. I can't believe 'Hide never mentioned that to you. For being so quick at dodging Decepticons you sure are slow sometimes. What did you think everyone meant when they said that Chromia was Ironhide's number-one fangirl?"

"I thought that maybe she had a crush on him or something, not that they'd be romping naked in my back yard for my ladies to see!"

She snorted. "Ironhide's 'observed' us in the bedroom before. Turnabout is fair play."

"WHAT?! WHEN?!"

"Do you really want to know?" she asked.

He gave an exasperated sigh. "Probably not. Just…shield the virgin eyes of our daughter, okay? Even fully clothed, the Autobots are classified."

Giggling, Sarah said, "Will do. See you later, _lover._"

He rolled his eyes as he ended the call. There were times he _really _didn't understand his wife.

His next order of business was sitting through a second, tortuous briefing by Prowl. (On Will's personal scale, one briefing a day by Prowl was brutal, two was tortuous, and three was a violation of the Geneva Convention. If he ever had a day where Prowl scheduled a fourth briefing, Will swore he'd go find Megatron's front door and ring the bell.) The enforcer had tried to explain the basics of Autobot intimacy, but the presentation was so technical (complete with a very graphics-heavy Powerpoint - what _was _his obsession with Powerpoints?) that Will couldn't follow half of it. A lecture on 'bot-sex was bad enough, but a birds-and-bees briefing by _PROWL _was a horror beyond words.

Escaping that as soon as possible, he moved on to the next task: writing the fragging report.

He sat down at his computer, trying to ignore the gut-feeling that today was only going to go downhill. Muttering to himself while the computer booted up, he said, "I began with _Wheeljack's _explosions, got sucker-punched by amorous Autobots, and now my wife's a peeping tom. I don't even want to know what will be happening by dinner-time."

An hour later, he was numbly staring at the monitor.

_At 1147 hours, the Autobots' sensor net indicated the presence of personal Cybertronian energy readings in a restricted area. Autobot leader Optimus Prime clarified that the readings were Weapons Specialist Ironhide and fembot Chromia who | _

And that's all he'd been able to write. The cursor just sat there blinking, daring him to write what happened next and _somehow _make it sound like these beings were professional, rational soldiers who could be entrusted with the defense of the whole stupid planet. Thanks to Prowl's hastily-prepared afternoon briefing, he now was versed in terms like bond-mate and spark-merge, but he just couldn't bring himself write either term. One sounded too kinky and the other sounded too…porno.

Trying again, he deleted the word "who" and ended the sentence with "fembot Chromia."

…_fembot Chromia. She and Ironhide |_

Were what? Rutting on the beach? GAH! Deleting the last three words, he typed,

…_fembot Chromia. The Autobots neglected to inform us that the two are |_

Mates? Will closed his eyes, trying to banish the unwanted images. Not mates – the term made them sound like animals, which might not be too inaccurate considering they'd been going at it for pushing three hours now, but he was not about to condemn his best friend in a report that way. The Autobots had been quite insistent that Ironhide and Chromia were not husband and wife, either, so he floundered for an official way to describe them that would make sense and be acceptable to all parties involved.

For the sixth time since he sat down to write this report, he dropped his head to his desk and thumped his forehead against it several times. "Why, Primus? You didn't even make us humans; why are you tormenting me so?" Finally lifting his gaze, he stared at the computer screen, waiting for some kind of inspiration about how to explain this to an unsuspecting human world.

…_that the two are spouses. |_

There. That sounded nice and reasonable.

…_spouses. They were in the restricted area looking for a private place so they could |_

He banged his forehead against the desk again. There had to be a right way to say this. There _had _to be. He'd written up reports for all kinds of crazy slag – from pranks to resurrections – and he'd always found that just-right way to phrase things so that the Autobots were put in the best possible light. Because even putting that slant on things, outsiders were usually quick to condemn. Sitting up straight again, he sat with his hands hovering over the keyboard, waiting for the right words to just fall from his fingertips. Cringing slightly, he finally typed out the unavoidably incriminating words.

…_so they could engage in marital relations. |_

At least that way 'Hide and Chromia sounded like responsible adults instead of hormonal teenagers.

_Since they are spouses, they are entitled to private quarters and all other rights attendant. Efforts are underway to find them suitable housing to prevent a recurrence of the incident. |_

What else was he supposed to say? They weren't even in the brig yet, and he wasn't entirely sure what to charge them with. Regulations didn't cover 'accidentally rattling the base by _interfacing_ without permission.'

Realizing he needed a break, Will stood and stretched, then remembered the other half of this nightmare - and wilted. Arcee. Maybe it was a _good _thing there were so few femmes. Deciding that ignoring the problem wouldn't make it go away, he squared his shoulders and all but marched out of his office.

He stood outside the human door to the med bay for a good five minutes, steeling himself against whatever might be happening on the other side of that wall. Finally getting up the courage, he scanned his security pass and the door slid open for him. Arcee was apparently unconscious on a repair berth while Ratchet was rummaging around back in the parts section of the med bay. Will knew he'd been doing an inventory before they'd picked up Chromia's and Wheeljack's inbound transitional forms about 2100 hours yesterday.

"How can I help you, Will?" the medic asked, coming back into the main room of the med bay.

"I was just wondering about Arcee and how she was doing."

"She's fine," Ratchet casually answered as if this whole thing were no big deal. "I had to use a spark dampener to contain the excess energy – the pressure on her chamber was intense enough to be painful, but we weren't looking at a breach. Yet. Dampening a spark makes a 'bot very groggy, so she's recharging right now. As soon as those two afts shield their sparks again, she'll be back to normal."

"So you two didn't…"

"Set off any alarms?" Ratchet supplied, amused. "No. She and I broke off our relationship long before the War even started."

Lennox choked. "WHAT?!" He'd been imagining some kind of compassionate 'sacrifice' on Ratchet's part, not the two of them being old flames.

The medic shrugged. "Compatible processors but incompatible sparks. We remain good friends, though."

That was both a relief and a very disturbing mental image. Shaking his head trying to clear it, Will said, "But…what happened, exactly? I'm only asking because I have to write the report," he hastily added.

"No prurient interest, I'm sure," Ratchet said, a smirk in his voice.

Will blushed. "NO!"

The medic chuckled. "Prowl briefed you, did he not?"

"Well, yeah, but most of it went over my head. I got the basics of what Ironhide and Chromia were…are doing, but I don't understand why Arcee's spark is out of whack and why she's the only one."

Ratchet gestured toward a chair. "Have a seat. This may take a while."

With a sinking feeling, Will grabbed a folding chair and settled in.

Sitting down on the ground to be closer to eye-level, Ratchet asked, "You understand that our race has genders but not sexes, correct?"

Will frowned. "I thought I did."

"Let's try this analogy. We all have the same basic hardware; we just have different software."

"Okay. That part I understand."

Leaning back against the wall, the medic said, "As part of the femme formatting, there's a quirky bit of code that results in a build-up of spark energy over time. The only way to release that energy is through interfacing."

"So…the mechs don't have this buildup?"

"No. We find interfacing an enjoyable experience, but we're not driven to such activities the way femmes are."

"Which means the femmes are the ones with the sex drives," Will mused.

"No, no," Ratchet contradicted, "we all have what could be termed sex drives; mechs' drives just aren't powered internally. Femmes power up their mates' sex drive via interfacing hardware, activating it for a period of time, usually the equivalent to an Earth week or two, depending on the frequency and intensity of overloads. Hence the need for a physical link. Spark play is a different thing entirely, though the two activities are often combined."

Will hid his face in his hands. They had _literal _sex drives?! He tried to envision it...and instantly regretted it. And he made a mental note to never ask them about Autobot jump drives.

On second thought, the JCS didn't need to know any of this. Nope. He could just blame the alarms going off on some unnamed Decepticons and claim that Ironhide and Chromia just _happened _to be in the area and took care of them.

"Think about it, Will," the Autobot continued more seriously. "If mechs were driven to interface, femmes would be reduced to property and jealously guarded. Since we're fated to have such an unequal ratio, making femmes the ones with active sex drives was one of the few things Primus did right in my opinion."

"So Arcee…?"

"Has acquired a significant power build-up and the radiation spike from Ironhide's and Chromia's activities exacerbated it. A human analogy might be exposing a half-healed burn to heat. She was able to function just fine until the spark-energy radiation hit her."

Will thought, Translation: She's permanently aroused and having Ironhide and Chromia around was making her hornier than a dog. "And this will happen to her every time they…spark-merge?"

"Yes. Until she finally gives in and interfaces. She's a very stubborn 'bot. I've been telling her for years that she's suffering unnecessarily. She was the only femme on the planet – it's not like she had competition or lacked for options."

One femme refusing to interface and another one refusing to _stop – _lovely. "So what can we do?"

"In regards to what?"

"In regards to keeping that aft of a weapons specialist from killing off Arcee. Do they even realize what they're doing to her?"

Ratchet snorted. "If they did, they'd just tell her to choose a temporary mate and stop whining. They're not going to stop for anything until Chromia's excess power is used up."

Great. More 'bot-sex on the horizon – that was the last thing he needed! "We need to get them a room. Wheeljack's supposed to be a brilliant scientist; there's got to be a way to build a hangar or bunker or _something_ that'll shield spark energy."

Ratchet raised a skeptical optic ridge. "We could probably make something that would keep Ironhide and Chromia from setting off the sensor net, but we Autobots would still be able to perceive them. It won't be a problem for us mechs – you know that we're far less obsessed with privacy than humans are – but Arcee will still be affected. Exposed sparks give off a _lot _of energy."

Frustrated, Will snapped, "Give me a solution here, Ratchet. I'm trying to keep you guys from looking like a bunch of wild, hormonal teenagers in my report to the JSC."

"Have Bumblebee pay a visit?"

In his chair, Will twitched in the face of _that _mental image. "Bumblebee? I always thought he and Arcee were just really good friends."

Ratchet shrugged. "They are – they're both scouts and have worked a lot together throughout the War. But they've also been discreetly flirting since she arrived here on Earth."

"I've seen her _pummel_ him."

"Precisely."

"_Bumblebee?_" Will repeated, incredulous.

Ratchet nodded. "She considers Prime to be an unacceptable choice since he's the mate of her extinguished sister, and he's the second best option. Jolt's too flippant for her tastes. She flat-out refuses to consider Sideswipe – she called him the silver psychopath when I suggested him. Sunstreaker is even more unappealing to her. And I'm sure you can imagine her reaction to the younger twins. If she's going to take a mate from one of the mechs on Earth, it's most likely going to be Bumblebee."

Will's first thought was, 'I knew the Autobots were gossips, but...wow! Ratch and Arcee really _have_ talked about this.' And then he tried to imagine how he would write the request for _that _one. _"NEST requires Bumblebee to leave his post protecting the human Prime so he can fly out to Diego Garcia for some nookie. On the taxpayer's dollars."_

Groaning, Will dropped his head to his hands.

"Arcee is a free femme. She'll take care of this in her own time and way."

"That's what I'm afraid of," Will grumbled, lifting his head.

"She's not Chromia," Ratchet chuckled. "She'll be discreet. And I'll mention building an interfacing facility to Wheeljack."

"GAH! Don't call it that!" Will exclaimed. "You make it sound like an Autobot brothel."

Ratchet grimaced. "I _told _you – femmes aren't property!"

"Well that's what it _sounds _like," the human petulantly answered. This was just getting to be ridiculous. "Call it a shielded facility or something. Don't put it in anything official that the hangar is being built for 'bot-sex. Some perverted government official or another would insist on having cameras installed."

Rolling his optics, Ratchet griped, "This is what happens when males have the active sex drives."

"No comments from the peanut gallery," Will quipped as he walked toward the door. "We aren't the ones getting dirty on the beach while on duty! Let me know as soon as you and Wheeljack have a working idea on the _shielded facility_."

Will could hear the smirk in Ratchet's voice behind him. "Of course."


	3. Chapter 3

Lennox sat at his computer, staring numbly at the screen.

_At approximately 1150 hours, Autobot Scout Arcee reported to the med bay with a preexisting spark-related condition exacerbated by |_

And now he'd have to drag Arcee through the mud, too, when she hadn't done anything wrong. There were times he _hated _his job. He knew the femme took pride in being a capable, professional soldier and that she bristled at any insinuation of weakness. Being brought down just by secondary radiation would definitely grate on her.

…_exacerbated by secondary radiation from Autobot Weapons Specialist Ironhide's and fembot Chromia's interfacing._

The words were getting easier to write, and Will wasn't sure if he should be disturbed by that or not.

…_interfacing. Autobot Chief Medical Officer Ratchet administered |_

Sighing, he stared at that piece-of-scrap blinking cursor again. He was having the opposite problem from his last report – instead of trying to find a way to inform his superiors that his 'bots were having sex, he was trying to find a professional, non-insulting way to say 'It's not what you gutter-minded pervs think!' Plus he was trying to gently prepare them for the request that, with a sinking feeling, he just _knew_that he'd have to make soon regarding Bumblebee.

He couldn't write 'standard medical treatment,' because the standard 'treatment' for a spark-energy build-up was interfacing, but he didn't want to get too technical, either. The Autobots entrusted him with a lot more information than they did other humans, including medical specs.

…_administered appropriate medical treatment (similar to a pace-maker) to temporarily correct the problem. Said medical condition will not affect her combat readiness. |_

Or would it? Slag. The only guaranteed way to kill a 'con was to extinguish his spark, but to do that, the spark had to first be exposed to at least some degree. So far, he hadn't seen Arcee falter in battle, but he hadn't exactly been watching for it, either. He hadn't even thought to ask Ratchet about that. Making a mental note to bring it up the next time he talked to the CMO, he deleted the sentence.

…_temporarily correct the problem. The Autobots are currently exploring a more permanent solution and will notify me with any necessary requests for a leave of absence, materials, or personnel as soon as a course of treatment has been approved._

There. Hopefully that would tip off his superiors to the fact that this was a bit more complicated than a faulty relay or something. But he really did need to know if her combat readiness would be affected before he could submit the report. Deciding he'd rather deal with this face-to-face… _in person_, he corrected himself, he headed back toward the med bay.

…

When he arrived, Wheeljack was already there consulting with Ratchet. Prime stood nearby, apparently receiving their report. Optimus nodded, acknowledging Will, and continued his conversation with the other newest arrival on Earth. "Please, just tell us whether you can construct it or not."

"Well, sure, I could probably make that with materials already fabricated here on Earth. Maybe even with materials already on the base. It won't be much of a challenge, really. I just don't understand _why_." Turning to Lennox, Wheeljack said, "Autobot Iron Will, perhaps you can help."

"_Anything _you need, Wheeljack. Just get me that shielded facility as soon as you can. The brig can't last forever." Though apparently Ironhide and Chromia could – it was after 1600 hours and still no word from Prowl.

His phone vibrated in his pocket and Ratchet said, "That's a copy of the plans as they stand right now, along with a preliminary materials list for requisitions."

"Thanks." Looking at the inventor (who would _never _rank as high as Chromia in Will's list titled "Troublemakers" no matter what he blew up), he asked, "Anything else you need?"

"Yes, actually. Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why the need for a facility like this at all?"

Will sighed heavily, making a frustrated sound in the back of his throat. "Have you had a chance to review the data packet Prowl prepared for new arrivals?"

"Yes, of course. Assimilated that last night before recharging. I know all the rules about humans not engaging in public intercourse and how, by human standards, what Ironhide and Chromia are doing to Arcee could technically be considered sexual harassment."

That was another charge he didn't want to contemplate – Arcee would be ticked at him for pointing out yet again that she couldn't handle the radiation and Ironhide and Chromia would look even worse than they already did. More sharply than he intended, Will asked, "So what's your question?"

"_Why_ is it sexual harassment?"

"Because it's unwanted and embarrassing."

"Yes, that's part of the definition of sexual harassment, but _why _is it embarrassing? It doesn't necessarily follow that something unwanted is inherently embarrassing. I mean, rain showers are unwanted – at least by you humans, though I can't _wait _to personally observe one – but that doesn't mean you're being harassed by your planetary atmospheric regulation authority."

Will's brow furrowed as he mentally tried to put the words together in a way that made sense. "Umm…"

"They haven't learned to control the weather yet, 'Jack," Ratchet said softly.

The inventor shuttered his optics in an astounded blink. "You mean…you have _wild _weather?"

"Frequently," Will deadpanned.

"With _vortexes_ and everything?" He practically radiated enthusiasm.

"Tornados, cyclones, hurricanes – Earth has them all," Optimus said, sounding amused. "Even sandstorms and monsoons."

The blue light of Wheeljack's eyes shined brighter. "Sir, permission to build a global network of weather observation posts?"

"Not until you get that slagging facility built," Will growled.

"Of course, I'll get right on it." He snapped a salute and then said, "But you still haven't explained why."

Will sighed, frustrated. For allegedly being on the absentminded side, Wheeljack could apparently be very dogged sometimes. "Because we don't want to know about it when other people are having sex."

Again the inventor shuttered his optics. "I've begun a preliminary review of your world wide web, sir. People _pay _for digital access to watch other people having sex – it's considered entertainment. Do you have any idea how many petabytes of information are dedicated to recreational reproduction? Even omitting the memory-intensive nature of video and audio clips, the textual records alone account for more than – "

"But not _officially_," Will cut him off then groped for an answer…and groaned at his own mental commentary's poor choice of words. "If someone seeks that out, that's their business, but…" He floundered again.

"It's considered impolite to force that information on others," Optimus finally said.

Wheeljack vented a sigh, thoroughly confused. "It's impolite to entertain others?"

"Yes, if it's _that _kind of entertainment!"

"But…_why_? You have digital transmissions of everything from exercise regimens to fuel preparation to sporting competitions. Are these considered impolite entertainment?"

"No…" Will warily answered.

"They all focus around bodily functions to varying degrees."

"Yes, but…that's different."

"_Why?_"

"Just let it go, Wheeljack," Optimus gently instructed. "You'll learn through time and trial and error."

He chuckled and rubbed the back of his helm like he was a little bashful. "Okay, okay. That's how I learn best, anyway."

"Ask Spitfire; she might be able to explain it," Ratchet suggested. "Human femmes are much more verbal, usually."

Remembering Sarah's gleeful reaction to the news that Ironhide and Chromia were fornicating in her back yard, Will hastily said, "No, I'll…try to write an explanation up for you and if it _still _doesn't make sense, we can talk about it again later." Then looking at Ratchet, Will asked, "I need to know for my report – will Arcee's condition affect her combat readiness?"

The medic vented a sigh. "Theoretically, it could, though so far she's functioned without any trouble, and that's including her battles both on Earth and on Cybertron. So long as no one is interfacing on the battlefield, she will remain unaffected and ready for combat."

"Guess we have to leave either Arcee or Ironhide and Chromia behind on our next mission, then," Will answered with a grimace. "Because I wouldn't trust those two to behave even if they were under fire."

"Oh, they pause long enough to return fire," Wheeljack said, his optics distant as though he was only halfway paying attention to the conversation.

With a profound effort, Will _didn't _imagine the scene Wheeljack had just described. Instead, he declared full retreat. "Optimus, I need to speak with you privately for a minute."

The Autobot leader nodded, and they walked together to his office.

When the door closed behind them, Will cut right to the chase. "We can get a room for 'Hide and Chromia, but Ratchet says there's only one way for Arcee to be fully functional again."

Optimus nodded thoughtfully. "He is correct."

Hating himself for even thinking it, Will said, "It would be a lot easier if this could be taken care of without involving people off the base."

Prime sighed. "Ratchet approached me about her condition five years ago. He had hoped that, when her spark was reignited, it would be restored to normal power levels but that was not the case. So he asked me to try to talk some sense into her."

Will cringed a little at that one. The Autobots obviously had very different views on the subject, but it was just _wrong _for a superior officer to request sex from a subordinate no matter the reason – cultural tolerance be damned.

"To paraphrase, she said she would not have me, not unless I was the last mech alive. And that's obviously not the case."

Will snorted, even as a part of him gave the femme a mental high-five for standing up for herself. "Somebody needs to share the old human adage with her: beggars can't be choosers."

"I dare you to call her a beggar," Optimus retorted.

"Point taken."

Musing to himself, the mech said, "I'd hoped that our previous relationship might make things a little easier for Arcee – "

"_WHAT? _Arcee has been with _you _too? Is there _any _mech on the planet she hasn't interfaced with?"

"Of course. She gets around – she _is _an unattached femme after all – but she has notoriously-high standards. Even from a human viewpoint, though, our courtship was far from scandalous. Both Arcee and I were still uncommitted when we…shared a liaison."

Will shuddered violently at the mental image of _that _threesome, and then he realized Optimus meant liaison in the _other _way. "Did you _have _to use that euphemism? I deal with government officials every day!"

Optimus shuttered his optics in a blink. "Oh. My apologies. And for once I agree with your sensibilities – interspecies interfacing _is _disturbing."

"Can we _please _change the subject?" Will groaned.

"Of course." Optimus waited patiently for a moment.

"Right," the human said, trying to pull himself back together. "Arcee." Looking up sharply at the mech, he said, "What do we do with her?"

"I refuse to take away her choice in the matter."

Will wholeheartedly agreed. "Maybe there's another way. Going by the human book, I should pull her from active duty until Ratchet gives her the all-clear. A spark condition that could result in a chamber-breach is not something to just ignore."

The Autobot nodded thoughtfully. "That might be best. It will grate on her pride as a soldier and might be enough of a push that she'll finally…"

"Get laid," Will miserably said when he realized the mech wasn't going to finish the sentence. "Don't worry about me and my human sensibilities – use whatever euphemism you like."

"Perhaps less-human terms would make you more comfortable," Optimus suggested. "Would the phrase 'resolve the energy buildup' be better?"

Will sighed, exasperated. "I guess so. Though honestly, it's all talking about the same thing." Sighing again, he continued, "I'm beginning to think it's a better idea to ship Arcee off to Bumblebee instead of the other way around. They won't set off the sensor nets that way."

"I concur."

"Any ideas on a plausible cover story? Because _she_ might not mind everyone knowing she's heading stateside to…resolve the energy buildup, but I think it'd be better for your public image if it wasn't the official reason for the trip."

"Actually, she probably would mind if the purpose of the visit was public knowledge. Cybertronian courtships last the equivalent of decades if not centuries. Any relationship that _might_ develop between Arcee and Bumblebee is only in its beginning stages. A cover story would be preferred. She has medical training; we can claim she is visiting Bumblebee to service him."

"GAH!"

"What?"

"Call it maintenance or repair or something. Service? Come on, Prime, even _you _have to see the innuendo in that one."

"When you write up that report for Wheeljack, can you copy me?" Optimus said dryly. "For being so averse to talking about interfacing, you seem intent on finding references to it everywhere."

Will grimaced. "Fine. But she's there to provide _maintenance_. Just humor me, okay?" Trying to focus again, he said, "And that could work. They'll need someplace private, though, which they won't get on a military base."

"Perhaps your mate's ranch?" Optimus suggested.

Sarah's earlier squeal of delight echoed in his mind. "I'm pretty sure she wouldn't mind, but a ranch doesn't run itself. Some friends of the family who oversee it, Carl and Elena, will both be there along with some hired hands. There is an old ranch-house on the eastern edge of the property that's really secluded, but it's little more than a cabin. A generator for electricity and a propane stove for heating and cooking. And what about Sam and Mikaela? Will Bumblebee leave them in DC or will they come with him? Because I'm having a hard time seeing Mikaela chopping wood."

"When Arcee is online again, we can consult with her about the details, but Bumblebee will not leave Sam behind, I'm certain of that."

"So on the human end, we claim that Sarah missed the old place and managed to bum a ride stateside. Sam and maybe Mikaela are tagging along with a dude-ranch mentality."

Optimus hesitated while he researched the term dude-ranch and then nodded in agreement. "I defer to the human to know if that's plausible or not."

Translation: he thought it sounded nuts. At that point, Will was past caring. Heaving a sigh, he said, "I'd better go. Got another report to write." Pausing at the door, he said, "And Optimus? Don't ever, under _any _circumstances, put Wheeljack in charge of entertainment. For _anything._Give me Prowl and his Powerpoints for the Christmas party, but _not Wheeljack._"

As Will walked way, the big mech chuckled behind him.


	4. Chapter 4

Author's Notes: Um...yeah...probably don't want to get caught reading this chapter at work. Still a T rating, but you probably don't want to explain why you're inappropriately sniggering (or so says my collaborator). :D This monster of a chapter is more a mix of funny and serious, but I hope you still enjoy it! Now, on with the show! :)

Happy New Years!

* * *

Will stalked down the corridor of the human half of NEST in a fine temper. Sure it'd been ten thousand years, but…FOR CRYING OUT LOUD! It'd been almost noon when Chromia and Ironhide set off the alarms, and it was 1900 hours before Prowl finally sent him a text saying he had them in the brig. It was bad enough that they'd rattled the base; did they have to _flaunt _it for _seven hours_?

Crossing the main hangar (and pointedly ignoring the humans sniggering up on the communications platform and at the ground-level command centers), he entered the Autobot office area and walked through a side-passage to the addition they'd built four years ago. It hadn't been necessary to have holding cells until Sunstreaker arrived.

The door automatically opened for him, and Will stormed into the brig. Ironhide and Chromia sat in their individual cells, staring intently at each other. Neither of them looked his way, so Will cleared this throat. They still didn't acknowledge him.

Will grimaced and thought, 'Fine.' Aloud, he said, "Chromia, you're new to the planet and you have a lot of information to assimilate, so I'm letting you off easy this time. You're on the day-shift schedule, so you're due to recharge. Go to the barracks, and I don't want to see you until tomorrow morning. By then, I expect you to have completely reviewed the information regarding appropriate and professional behavior befitting a soldier in NEST."

"Actually," she answered, still not taking her eyes off her mate, "I've already assimilated that information. I just didn't care."

Will let his breath out in a whoosh. He'd been assuming that Chromia and Arcee would be similar in temperament because they were both femmes. Only now did he realize just how wrong that line of thinking was.

The blue femme smugly continued, "My [whir shing-click chirp chirrup whiiiir] wanted to abide by your rules but I wouldn't let him."

It always irritated Will when Autobots spoke in their own language in front of humans – it was like parents spelling words they didn't want their young children to hear. "_What _did you call him?"

Ironhide smirked. "Her bright-sparked lover and interfacing _god_."

"Although the translation leaves something to be desired," Chromia lightly added. "Not intense enough."

The human resisted the urge to face-palm. OF COURSE Ironhide's mate would be as single-minded as he was. She was the one with the active sex drive, after all. And then the awful realization hit Will – the mech's sex drive was now powered up, too, and would be for _days. _How in the PIT were they supposed to deal with a horny Ironhide?! In the back of his mind, a way-too-amused voice answered, 'With a horny Chromia.'

Turning to the mech, Will said, "I expected better of you, Ironhide! I don't care what she says, Chromia's a quarter your size – she couldn't _make _you interface with her. We have standards of _professionalism_ in the Army!"

"Will…" Ironhide slowly said without breaking eye-contact. "Your wife visited you in your office on your anniversary wearing a trench-coat and high-heels. We're in the middle of the Indian Ocean and she wasn't dressed like that because it was chilly outside. Don't talk to me about professionalism."

Blushing furiously, he gave up on trying to shame either one of them, especially when 'Hide was his best friend and had more dirt on him than he had even realized. Pulling out his cell phone, Will texted Prowl. //how long wll C n IH b like ths?//

Prowl. //If by 'this' you mean staring at each other like lovesick petrorabbits and talking up each others' interfacing prowess, then months, probably. Maybe years.//

Panicked, Will typed, //Rtcht said 2 wks tops//

Prowl. //Two weeks of power for each interfacing session. But I'm reasonably certain that, if permitted, Ironhide and Chromia will interface again before the two weeks are up. She'll just keep powering him up until she's used up all her excess spark energy. And she's been accumulating it for ten-thousand years.//

Primus! That sounded like the premise for the worst porn flick _ever. _Trying to regain control of the situation, Major Lennox snapped, "Ironhide, explain yourself."

His smirk widened to a leer, though his optics were still locked with his mate. "And here I thought you were a prude."

"GAH! No! And look at me, slag it!" he ordered. "You two are _hurting _Arcee and now I'm stuck trying to explain to General Morshower, the JCS, and anybody else who's snoopy and has clearance that you two were going at it on the seashore."

'Hide finally broke optic-contact with Chromia to meet Will's gaze. "She's got a build-up, too?"

"I didn't realize," Chromia added, looking chagrined for the first time. "If I'd known, I'd have invited her to join us."

Lennox _did _face-palm at that one, and Chromia giggled. "Kidding, Iron Will. This femme doesn't share for anything. I've got a monopoly on a good thing and I intend to keep it that way. But I am sorry for the discomfort we caused her."

"Not _that_ sorry," Ironhide rumbled, giving Chromia what could only be described as a sultry stare – Autonomous Robotic Organism or not.

The human sighed. "We're looking into Wheeljack designing a building or room or something that'll shield exposed spark energy. You can _chat _there all you want, but can you just behave until then? I'm begging you, here."

Still making eyes with her mate, Chromia cocked her head, considering. "I'm afraid not. Ten thousand years is a _long _time, even for us. And that flawless black armor is just _too _gorgeous on you, mech. Of course, I'm more interested in what's underneath it."

"You could send us on a vacation," Ironhide suggested, waggling his optic ridges at Chromia. "What do you humans call it? A second honeymoon?"

"And have some conspiracy nut get footage of you two?" Will snorted. "I can see the headline now: Feds Scandalized by Alien Robot Sex-tape. If I send you anywhere, it'll be to Antarctica."

"I'm there!" Ironhide agreed, rising to his feet.

"I'll keep you warm, mech."

Grimacing, Will turned to go. "Google 'sarcasm,' femme. Prowl's going to keep you here at least overnight. In the meantime, I'll try to think of something."

"You could send us on a hunt-and-destroy for Decepticons," Ironhide added. "Slagging 'cons is the second-best thing we do together."

"Frankly, that'd probably be lower profile," Will grumbled.

"You said you were letting me off easy," Chromia hopefully said to the Major's retreating back, "but I don't want to go to the barracks. Can I stay in Ironhide's cell?"

Cursing the Cube for ever sparking those two, Will growled, "_NO!_"

…

Will stormed out of the Autobot side of NEST and into the main hangar. He was so furious, in fact, that he failed to see the femme until she stooped down, picked him up under his arms and hauled him off to the med bay like a wayward toddler. Setting him firmly but carefully on a repair berth, Arcee crossed her arms and glared from him to Ratchet and back.

"Do you two care to explain what you've been doing while I've been in recharge?"

At his wits end, Will lashed out with, "Slag it, Arcee, I've been trying to keep this stupid interfacing thing from becoming a black eye for the whole of NEST. Don't give me the angry femme routine, because I have _Spitfire _for a mate. There's no pout or Look or threat you can try on me that she's hasn't already used and with far greater effect."

And then he realized what he'd said and who he'd said it to and knew he'd be lucky to make it home to his wife in one piece tonight. Arcee tapped one finger on her crossed arm like she was counting to ten to control her temper – or counting down the last few seconds of Will's life. Finally she unfolded her arms and glared at Ratchet. "You. Out."

The medic wisely accepted being kicked out of his own med bay and quietly left.

"Tell me what you know about interfacing," Arcee coolly demanded.

"Prowl and Ratchet have both given me the run-down. With Powerpoints,"

Arcee snorted. "So you went to the logical one and the medically-detached one but never thought to ask a femme?"

"Well you were out cold and Chromia was still…with Ironhide taking care of her power buildup."

"I mean your own mate, Will."

He paused. "I asked for her help explaining to Wheeljack why Ironhide and Chromia need a room."

"But you never thought to ask for her opinion about what _I_ might want or need?"

Will could feel his face getting hot in embarrassment. "I've been up to my ears in slag today, Arcee. You could have warned me – none of you guys did. It never even occurred to me that robots could go at it until I have you crippled in the med bay and Ironhide and Chromia breaking rules that Prowl's still writing."

Arcee arched a haughty optic ridge at him. "I did not speak because Spitfire advised me not to. She explained that your culture judges harshly females who have multiple mates, and there was no way to discuss this without opening myself – and by extension, all the Autobots – to criticism. It was not important at the time as it had no bearing on my combat readiness. If I did wrong, then I'm sorry, but I believed discretion was the best course. Would you prefer a more direct discussion now?" That last statement was more of a challenge than a question.

Will sighed. He'd accidentally ticked off the femme, but even worse, he could tell he'd hurt her feelings. "Like it or not, direct discussions are all I've been having all day. Go for it."

The blue light of her eyes was ice-cold. "First, let's get something clear; there is no word for 'slut' in Cybertronian. It is accepted that femmes regularly take different mates until they find one worth committing to. That said, even unattached femmes don't take interfacing lightly whether it's with her first mate or her hundredth. And yes, there are femmes who have had hundreds of mates. The mechs told you about the nuts and bolts of interfacing, I assume. Did any of them mention spark-play?"

Lennox shifted uneasily. "Only in passing."

"Figures," she snorted. Then a little more gently, she said, "Tell me what a spark is, Iron Will."

He blinked in surprise. "It's…the part of a 'bot that makes him…her unique. When it's extinguished, you die. It's your mind or your soul or whatever."

"Then consider for a moment what it would mean for two sparks to touch."

Now that he stopped to think about it, the idea floored him.

Gauging his expression, Arcee continued, "When sparks are shared, you see each other truly. You know each others' soul – inside and out. You see the strengths and weaknesses, the fears and the foibles. You see what your mate is made of, and you see what he thinks of your spark – of your soul – as well. There is no hiding. And in a spark-merge, that connection becomes permanent and constant."

Will nodded in understanding, trying to imagine how thrilling – and how frightening – that level of intimacy would be.

"When a mech and femme interface, they're essentially hardwiring their souls to each other. Even between mates as…enthusiastic as Ironhide and Chromia, it is an act of trust, of the deepest and truest friendship. Do you see why we find no shame in it?"

"I guess so," he softly answered.

"I realize that there are differences between human and Autobot standards of what's publicly acceptable, and I know that Ironhide and Chromia have crossed a lot of lines today. You're trying to do damage control, but…these inexperienced mechs have only told you half the story. Interfacing isn't recreational reproduction or just using up some excess power. When sparks touch, they rub off on each other, and sometimes, they rub the wrong way, to borrow a human expression or two. Consider that, Iron Will. Consider what it's like to comprehend the entirety of your best friend's soul and not like what you find. Or to realize you are the one found wanting."

Was that what Ratchet meant by compatible processors but incompatible sparks? He and Arcee got along well, but when they saw each others' soul, they didn't like what they found? What would that be like for a human? For him? Would Sarah stay married to him if she could see just how selfish he was sometimes, how he got angry at things he knew were stupid and insignificant? He winced at the thought.

"And then consider that your mate becomes part of your own soul. Like I said, you rub off on each other. Before the War, I interfaced with a future Decepticon I thought was the quiet, introspective type. In reality, he was guarded and jealously possessive – and that jealousy was what I took from him. I had to find a mech with a very outgoing and generous spark to counteract the jealous one. It only takes a bad coupling or two for a femme to realize how important it is to be choosy, because it's impossible to predict what you'll take from your mate. Sometimes even good interfaces backfire." She gave him a self-depreciating smile. "Can you imagine sharing sparks with a mate who, as a core characteristic, was profoundly, unflinchingly loyal? I became deeply devoted to him on accident."

Will half-smiled at her. "Sounds a lot more complicated than our way of doing things."

Her optics flashed brighter in approval. "Yes. It is. Thank you for recognizing that. Do you see now why I can't just flip a coin or draw straws and take a mate, even if he's a temporary one?"

"Yes," Will solemnly answered. "But that doesn't change the fact that I can't have you going into battle with a potentially-crippling spark condition. You can accept a position as support staff until a suitable mate comes along, and you're still welcome to train with NEST, but I can't put you on the front lines, Arcee."

Her optics dimmed again. "I see. So you're essentially ordering me to find a mate."

"No, I'm going by the book. But we'll miss you on the team. You're fast and you're lethal, and there's no denying we need you. And both Prime and I agree that this has to be your choice, both to take a mate and which mate. If you do choose a mate on Earth – any mate at all – we'll do whatever it takes to accommodate your needs. Unlike _some _'bots, you've actually been respectful of our sensibilities."

She chuckled softly at that. "Give Chromia a chance, Iron Will. She has a devil-may-care attitude sometimes, but she's hell on wheels in a fight. She'll be an asset to the team."

Will shook his head, having a hard time believing it.

"Now, I've got a medic and a Prime to brow-beat," she said, as though it were a regular thing to chew out Optimus. "Did you have any more questions?"

There was one that had been nagging him all day. "If…if it's not too personal, why are you so adamantly against Prime as a mate?"

Her head dipped once as though she struggled with the question.

"If it's too personal, that's okay."

"No. I asked for it. There are two answers to that. The first is the one you are to give anyone who asks: in human terms, he is my brother-in-law and taking him as a mate would dishonor my sister's memory. The second answer I have already entrusted to your mate, and I will not ask her to keep secrets from you." She hesitated for a moment, searching for the right words. "If your spark – your soul – was placed side-by-side with Optimus' for comparison, do _you _think you'd walk away feeling better about yourself?"

Oh. "No, probably not."

"Then you can appreciate how remarkable Elita was and why I wouldn't take her place unless I was truly desperate. Frankly, I'd rather take Ratchet as a mate again, but there's another mech for me to consider. I'll let you know soon."

"Thanks. And…thanks for the last seven trouble-free years."

"You're welcome," she answered, amused.

Ratchet returned through the door to the med bay with the air of a condemned prisoner facing his executioner. Arcee must have ordered him back into the med bay via comm. "Good luck," Will murmured in passing. They both knew Ratchet was about to have his aft handed to him.

…

Ratchet wasn't the only one.

From the communications platform in the main hangar, Will and the rest of the human shift heard Arcee ranting at the medic in Cybertronian for a full fifteen minutes. When she calmly existed the med bay, every squishy (and they were acutely aware that they _were _squishy) pretended to be very engrossed in whatever work they were supposed to be doing. When the doors to the Autobot side of the hangar closed, Will muttered to Epps, "She's gunning for Prime now."

"Sucks to be the boss 'bot."

"The worst part is, she's not his mate and won't ever be. There's not going to be any making up after this."

"_Sucks_," Epps repeated, and Will got the distinct impression his friend wouldn't have minded Arcee and Prime having a make-up _chat_. Will shook his head in half-hearted amusement at the contradiction – military men locking up Ironhide and Chromia for interfacing while cheering on Arcee and Optimus. No wonder Wheeljack was confused.

Will tried to ignore the Cybertronian cussing-out Optimus was getting, but Arcee was only slightly more muffled behind a second set of doors. The occasional low thud made several people wince. Twenty minutes later the yelling finally stopped and a tense silence filled the hangar. Every human eye was on the communication center where Ops' unique radar tracked the Autobots' movements on the island. After a nerve-wracking moment, the female soldier at the monitor said, "She's going to the brig, sir." Everyone breathed a sigh of relief.

Despite the brig being a good fifty feet further away, Arcee's voice still carried, and it was clear that the previous half hour had been just a warm-up. Twenty minutes came and went and she was still going strong. She even threw in a few English insults and threats that left Will wide-eyed and certain he'd have nightmares. At the half-hour mark, the radar showed Prowl approaching the brig. Arcee's tirade stopped mid-sentence, and then her blip on the radar stalked to the barracks.

"Alright, everybody, show's over," Will announced when Ops showed the barracks door was locked. "As you were."

The humans went back about their business, and Will pulled out his cell phone, feeling a newfound respect for Prowl. To the second-in-command, he sent, //u hav ballbearings of steel//

//Thank you. But more importantly, I have good timing and a rational mind.//

//wht did u say 2 her//

//I simply reminded her that she was an Autobot warrior and that she was acting in a manner unbefitting a soldier in NEST.//

//thats it//

//That's all *I* said. She had a few choice words for me as a parting shot, but I know her well. Her pride had taken a beating, and so an appeal to her pride would be the best remedy for the situation.//

//wht did she say 2 rtcht n prime//

//She explained to Ratchet that he erred in divulging her medical history to the entire base and in neglecting to properly explain spark-play. To Prime, she explained that he erred in removing her from active duty and in telling you about their previous relationship. To Ironhide and Chromia, she explained that they erred in existing.//

Will sniggered at that one. //their response?//

//They were ignoring her. Unwisely. If I may offer unsolicited advice, come see them before you return to your mate and consider yourself in their servos. Adaptation will be required by all of us for this glitch to be corrected.//

Glitch. Sounded about right. //will do//

…

It was almost 2200 hours before Will finally saved the last of the reports and shut down his computer. Steeling himself against whatever he'd find there, he headed for the Autobot brig. Ironhide and Chromia had moved in his absence, standing at the wall of electrified bars between their cells and staring into each others' optics. Chromia risked getting zapped by reaching her arm through the bars to rest her hand on Ironhide's chassis, directly above his spark. The gruff, old, battle-scarred warrior cradled her hand in his, holding her close to him the only way he could. As before, they didn't acknowledge Will. The human felt slightly better knowing that they had also ignored an irate Arcee.

Instead of trying to reason with them, he tried to do what Prowl requested and consider himself in their shoes. Ten-thousand years apart. Ten-thousand war-torn years. The idea was just…incomprehensible. He remembered how hard it had been eight years ago when Soccent was destroyed, and in the back of his mind – more important than his men dying or NBE-1 breaking free or Mission City collapsing around his ears – was the _need _to survive and hold Annabelle and Sarah. And then he tried to imagine ten thousand years of that.

And then add in the fact that 'Hide and Chromia were spark-mates. They had seen each others' souls and what they found there was so compelling that neither one would even dream of another mate. Ten thousand years with her spark burning a hole through her chassis, and Chromia's only thought was Ironhide.

Could Will honestly call himself a friend to Ironhide if he continued to keep them separated like this?

Pulling out his cell, Will texted Prowl again. //slag i cant keep em apart//

//I was hoping you would come to that conclusion. Would you consider making the place of their first interface an area designated for that purpose? I believe they would be willing to schedule their chats to prevent embarrassment and alarm for the humans and to correspond with Arcee's recharge cycle so she wouldn't be adversely affected. This would only be a temporary solution until the shielded facility is finished.//

Will grimaced, thinking 'Great.' A nickname for the place immediately popped into his head – the Chat Room, and The Love Shack for Wheeljack's shielded facility. Swearing to never repeat that to anyone – especially Epps – he texted, //when did u become dr phil//

//Relationships create problems. I do not advise mechs and femmes on relationships, but I am a problem-solver by nature. I cannot apply rules retroactively, and human regulations do not take interfacing into account. There is no charge for me to bring against them. As far as I'm concerned, they can be released whenever you are ready.//

Throwing the switch to kill the power on the bars, Will said, "Prowl and I are willing to cut you a deal. Don't make me regret this, you two."


	5. Chapter 5

Author's Note: I've been informed that the previous snigger-fest warning was insuffient, so here's the upgraded version. Please put down all fluids and finish eating before you read this chapter (or at least this first scene). :) Enjoy!

* * *

"So let me get this straight," the image of Chairman Morshower drawled on the computer monitor. "You not only let them out of the brig, but you're _scheduling _an alien robot romp on the beach?"

It took every ounce of military training for Major Lennox to keep his expression smooth, even if he was only staring down the webcam. "Yes, sir. That's correct."

Trying to sound professional and failing, one of the four-star generals wondered with wide eyes, "Are all of the Autobots participating?"

"No, sir. Chromia has explicitly stated she does not share."

"Explicitly, huh?" another general sniggered. The wide-eyed one glared at him.

'Primus,' Will thought. 'It's like being in middle-school again!'

"This is violating so many regs I don't even know where to start," Morshower grumbled. Will could tell what Morshower was thinking as clearly as if they were communicating via Autobot comm: have you lost your fricking _mind_?

"Sir, you are familiar with Prowl and his exactness when it comes to rules and regs. Even he can't figure out what to charge them with." Other than sexual harassment, though in Will's defense, it was Wheeljack who had come up with that one, not Prowl. "Without charges, we can't hold them indefinitely. Prowl is working to remedy the situation by drawing up regulations that would be equally applicable to humans and Autobots, but in the meantime, they are spouses by Autobot standards and, frankly, we'll be able to better control their…interfacing practices by allowing them a little bit of leeway."

"By letting them play on the beach. Betcha that pervert Soundwave's getting an eyeful," one of the admirals said with a smirk.

"Outdoor interfacing privileges are only a temporary solution," Will repeated for emphasis. "The materials request you received yesterday is so we can build a permanent solution."

"A shielded storage facility for experimental weapons and ammo?" the 'explicitly' general asked. "You're going to let robots go at it next to high explosives?"

'Knowing Ironhide, he'd get a kick out of it,' Will thought grimly. "That's just a cover. We thought it would do less damage to the Autobots' reputation if their intimate practices weren't widely known. The experimental weaponry will be stored in Wheeljack's lab in a specially-designed room."

"An Autobot No-Tell Motel," snickered the admiral who knew _way _more about Soundwave than was healthy. The wide-eyed one rolled his eyes at him.

"They prefer to think of it as a honeymoon suite," Will said, blushing despite the uniform he was wearing.

After Annabelle went to school that morning, Sarah had invited 'Hide and Chromia over to the house. Once there, she had introduced them to the concept of the 'honeymoon suite' and started talking with them about interior design for the fragging Love Shack. So far, Ironhide was insisting on an extra-large padded berth, while Chromia was all for red leather and polished steel. However, both of them agreed that an Autobot-sized hot tub was a must, provided Ratchet could concoct the proper cleansing solvent from Earth chemicals.

Five hardened commanders of men – top-ranking brass who knew the horrors of war – stared at Will in owlish, unblinking shock. "Giant alien robot warrior honeymoon suite?"

Morshower repressed a grimace. "Major Lennox, I leave this to your discretion. Just send us the materials and human resources requests and we'll fill them, no questions asked."

"Thank you, sir," Lennox answered, thinking for the thousandth time that he didn't get paid enough to deal with this slag. "There is one other related matter we need to discuss."

To his credit, Morshower didn't even flinch. "Yes?"

"Arcee."

"Again – you tell us what you need, when, and where and we'll get it to you."

"Who, sir. We need Bumblebee in California. On private property we've secured for the purpose. The Autobots will transmit the rendezvous coordinates to Bumblebee on a secured comm link. Arcee is going to give him a tune-up."

The 'explicitly' general sniggered and didn't even have the good grace to _try _to cover it with a cough. "A _tune-up_, eh?"

"She's a qualified field medic," Lennox archly said in her defense. The idea of Ironhide and Chromia picking out curtains was just…impossible to not snigger at, but Arcee's situation was completely different. "We want this to be as discreet as possible since Arcee and Bumblebee want this to remain unofficial and the people who operate the private property don't have clearance to know about the Autobots. However, we all anticipate the Witwickys will tag along and are agreed to that."

"As long as I don't have to deal with it – ever – I delegate this and all interfacing-related matters to you, Major," Morshower declared.

Translation: we're never having this discussion again. With a swell of relief in his soul, he answered, "Thank you, sir."

…

Will strode down the steps to the ranch-house's porch. "Good to see you guys!"

Sam, Mikaela, and a sheepish-looking holoform all climbed out of the yellow Camaro in the yard.

A late-middle-age couple stood with Sarah Lennox and R.C. on the porch, watching the reunion. "Sam, Mikaela, Cam, this is Carl and Elena Jensen. They're the backbone of this ranch. Sarah would have lost the old place years ago if it weren't for them."

"Pleased to meet you," Mikaela said.

"The pleasure is ours," Elena graciously answered. "We'd invite you in, but if you're going to make it to the Collin place before dark, you'd best leave now."

"Sorry," Sam apologized. "Our flight was delayed."

"That's fine," Carl grunted. "We'll see you when you city slickers have had enough. Enjoy yourselves!"

"Thanks," Will answered, turning to his wife and the femme still on the porch and tilting his head toward the trio of bikes.

"We will," R.C. murmured as she walked down the steps, and Sarah fought a smirk.

"Mind if I ride with the girls?" Mikaela asked Will, and he handed her his helmet in answer.

"Sarah knows the way. See you there."

The silent holoform who went by the designation Cam Romero climbed into the back seat, allowing Sam to drive with Will in the passenger seat. As soon as they were out of sight of the house, the holoform disappeared.

Will and Sam made small talk on the way to the cabin, mostly centered on how Sam liked being a married man. He and Mikaela had finally tied the knot last Valentine's Day. Sam mostly blushed and stammered a lot, but he did admit he liked having Mikaela officially as his partner now.

The sun had already set when Arcee and her charges turned off the washboard gravel road onto a rutted track that led across an open field. They could barely make out the faded-white walls of the old two-bedroom, one-bathroom farmhouse as the twilight deepened.

As soon as Sarah and Mikaela climbed off their bikes, Arcee transformed, shining a headlight at the door while Sarah unlocked it and rummaged around inside for an oil lamp. Bumblebee waited for Sam and Will to remove their luggage from the trunk before switching to his bipedal base mode.

"Thanks!" Sarah said to the femme as she lit the lamp. "We should be good from here on out. Why don't you and Bumblebee make a sweep of the perimeter?"

"Yeah," Will half-heartedly agreed. "Go on patrol. And take your time."

Sarah started water heating on the propane stove and broke out a box of freeze-dried dinners while Sam and Will brought the luggage in. "Take your pick!"

"Wow," Mikaela murmured. "You weren't kidding when you said we'd be roughing it."

"Beats MRE's," Will retorted, choosing the packet of beef stroganoff.

"We keep the house stocked up for deer-hunting season," Sarah answered. "It's also good to have a place you can fall back to if the weather ever catches you by surprise when you're this far from home." Sarah shot Mikaela a quick, happy grin. "Besides, I grew up reading 'Little House on the Prairie.' I don't mind. At least we have the generator, beds, a tankless propane water-heater, and indoor plumbing. And we'll have a lot of fun tomorrow. Hiking, horseback riding – there's even a small reservoir we can go swimming in."

"Sounds fun," Mikaela agreed.

At the kitchen table, Sam politely asked Will, "So…you left Spitlet on Diego Garcia?"

"Yeah. Sorry we didn't give you an explanation for this sudden vacation. Prowl didn't want to discuss details over an open phone line. He's a bit tetchy about protecting the human Prime."

"He's not the only one," Sam answered, and Will knew he was thinking of Bumblebee.

"Anyway, didn't want my daughter exposed to all this slag," Will grumbled. "And I gave 'Hide a detailed explanation as to which parts I would weld together if Annabelle even _suspects_ that he and Chromia are up to any shenanigans."

"Chromia's the new femme, right?" Mikaela asked with interest as she set the table. "Along with Wheeljack?"

"Yeah. Um…You want the short explanation or the detailed one?"

"Short, I guess," Sam answered.

"Autobots have sex drives – literal ones – but the femmes are the ones whose drives are active. Chromia and 'Hide are mates. Spouses."

Sam stared at Will for a second. "Okay, maybe that was too short of an explanation. _Why _are you leaving Annabelle with mated Autobots and their active sex drives so Mikaela and I can go camping with you and Sarah?"

Will exhaled in frustration. "It's…unhealthy for a femme to go too long without interfacing – the equivalent of intercourse for 'bots. It can even be deadly because it messes with their sparks. And Arcee…"

He just couldn't bring himself to say it, not with memories of the painful-sounding thuds coming from Prime's office when Arcee was on the rampage.

"You're her _pimp_?" Mikaela exclaimed, putting the pieces together faster than Sam.

"Something tells me Bumblebee won't mind," Sarah murmured slyly.

Mikaela glowered at her, and Sarah shrugged. "Well, you know…"

The girl rolled her eyes, but she tipped her head, allowing that Sarah was right.

Will looked from one to the other, irritation building. He recognized communicating in code when he saw it. "What?"

"Well…" Sam hedged, "'Bee and Arcee are already together, kind of. They have been for at least a year."

Mikaela snorted. "Try, 'since before coming to Earth.'"

"_WHAT?_" Sam and Will both exclaimed.

"Arcee asked us to not tell," Sarah said, trying to soothe her husband. "Prowl would have fits if he knew all the details."

"Am I the _only _person on the planet who doesn't know which 'bot is 'facing which?"

"There are only three female Autobots here," his wife pointed out, "and RaFly doesn't have a mate."

"That you know of," Will snarled back.

"I'd know," Mikaela said archly. "RaFly and I are tight. She doesn't have a mate." And then, because she couldn't help teasing the usually-cool-and-collected soldier who looked like he was near exasperated tears, she added, "Yet."

"GAH!"

Sarah giggled. "Honey, I'm _sure _Sam and Mikaela will let you know if there's ever a change in RaFly's…status." She turned her authoritative mother's glare on the younger couple. "Won't you."

Sam sniggered. "If it gets this reaction out of Will, you bet!"

…

After dinner, Will fired up the generator and they watched a movie on the old TV in the living room. It was a whodunit that kept them on the edge of their seats for a good two and a half hours. Once the credits were rolling, though, Mikaela looked out the east-facing window, in the direction the 'bots had gone. Sarah drifted into the kitchen to finish the cleaning up.

"When will they be back?" Mikaela wondered. "They left more than three hours ago."

"Yep," Sarah said, absentmindedly putting the drip-dried dishes away. "Ironhide and Chromia only stopped at seven hours because Prowl interrupted them."

"So you think they're still…?"

Dramatically plopping down in a kitchen chair, Will miserably answered, "Chatting? Yes."

A little stunned, Sam asked, "Right now?"

"Yes."

"For how long?" Mikaela demanded.

Will crossed his arms on the table and rested his forehead against them. "There's a reason we wanted you to take a two-week vacation."

"_Two weeks_?" Mikaela repeated.

"Like the _entire _two weeks?" Sam stammered.

Will slumped even lower in his chair. "Yes."

The younger couple just stared out the east-facing window in awestruck silence for a moment.

"So," Sarah brightly said, unsubtly trying to spare her poor husband. "Who's up for Scattergories?"

…

Will didn't wake up until almost noon. Diego Garcia was eleven hours off from Pacific Time, so it had taken him forever to fall asleep last night. Unfortunately, the East Coast was three hours earlier, so Sam and Mikaela had been up since dawn. Slagging jet lag.

Softly kissing his still-sleeping wife, Will pulled on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt and wandered out to the main rooms. Mikeala was sitting at the kitchen table and reading a book she'd found on the shelves in the living room. She also had a coffee pot on the propane stove and pancake mix all ready for the griddle. "Morning," she greeted him.

"Good morning." Looking around, he asked, "Where's Sam?"

Over the rim of her coffee cup, her eyes darted to the front door. "Talking with 'Bee."

He opened the door to see Bumblebee in his alt-form. There were grass-stains on his doors and he was surrounded by Arcee's three bikes. The blue one leaned against his passenger door, the purple one was touching his driver's side back panel, and the pink one was pressing against his front bumper. Cuddling. Autobot alt-forms _cuddling. _Now he'd seen it all. Sam was sitting on a large rock near 'Bee's driver's side, and Will could hear the quiet song-clips as the two conversed.

And then Major William Lennox sighed in sudden relief – the last of his interfacing-related problems was solved.

Arcee activated her holoform, and the blissed-out expression on her face almost made him blush. After all, this was _Arcee_, the quintessential soldier. Seeing her wearing _that _expression was as disconcerting as seeing Sarah in fatigues and packing heat would be. R.C. climbed the porch steps and joined him in the kitchen. "Reporting in, sir. We found nothing unusual on patrol. Everything's good."

"_Everything_?"

She flushed a little. "Everything. Is v_ery_ good."

Behind R.C., Mikaela shook with silent laughter

'Sweet Cybertron,' Will thought, 'she can't even talk about it in complete sentences.' "I take it Ratchet will clear you for active duty after this vacation, then."

"Give us the full two weeks, and yes sir. And about Bumblebee's and my respective assignments…"

Will's heart sunk. Of course they'd want to be together now that they were mates. "Yes?"

"Bumblebee's primary loyalty is to Samuel and will be for as long as the Prime lives. We both understand that. And I know I fill a niche on the strike team. We are both content with our duties for the foreseeable future."

Will half-smiled. So the soldier in her wasn't so far gone as all that, then.

R.C. ducked her head at little in embarrassment. "However…if it wouldn't be _too _much of an inconvenience…could we take a two-week vacation like this again next summer?"

Will barked out a laugh. "I'm positive that can be arranged." Gesturing toward the kitchen, he said, "You want some breakfast?"

"There's plenty of pancake mix," Mikaela encouraged.

"No thanks," R.C. coyly answered. "I think I'll just recharge in the sun for a bit. But we're on standby if you need anything, sir."

"You're on vacation, femme."

"Enjoy it," Mikaela added with a smirk.

Flashing one last blissed-out smile, R.C. said, "Yes, ma'am," and flickered out of existence.


End file.
